Infiltration
by saria almasy albatou kinneas
Summary: Lieutenant Gillette is given an undercover mission into a Molly House to gather evidence.


Infiltration

Never, in his entire life, had he imagined wearing women's clothing out in public. At least, not since his sisters had grown tired of dressing him up when they were young.

Nor had he ever expected to be walking into a Molly house in such clothes by orders from the Navy.

But perhaps we're getting ahead of ourselves, perhaps we should be telling this story from an earlier point.

"But sir! You can't possibly expect me to carry out these orders!" Gillette exclaimed to his commanding officer, Commodore Norrington. Norrington, for his part, was trying his best not to grin, let alone laugh outwardly at his 1st lieutenant.

"If it makes you feel better, Lieutenant, I was asked to perform this duty myself"

"And why, pray tell, did you decline and pass the orders on to me?" Gillette fumed.

"Why, because I'm so easily recognizable, of course. And I don't honestly believe I fit the part, too masculine, you see. Besides, I look terrible in mint green."

A muscle in Gillette's eye twitched. "Are you insinuating that I'm not masculine...?" There was no arguing most of his points. He would be recognized in an instant if he walked into one of those places, and then the whole assignment would be for nothing. And of course, he was rather large to be playing the Molly role and he would look terrible in mint green. But to insult his masculinity? He was practically begging to be punched, if only he weren't the commanding officer...

"Never, Master Gillette, never. I'm simply saying your smaller stature would fit the role considerably better than my own. Now, come along, you need to be briefed and prepared."

And so it was some time later that he tottered on his heels through the doors of The Artful Birdie and he briefly wondered what the owners were thinking when they chose the name. The costume he was given was quite the nightmare. Yes, the green shade did complement his hair tone, but they put him in a corset as well that was the devil to tie. He had the feeling it wouldn't be tied for long.

'It's for the greater good, Gillette, take it for the team' 'Sir that was the worst pun I have ever had the misfortune of hearing...'

Remembering the scene he had also asked why the land forces weren't taking the job. Understaffed his arse. Grumbling, he put a loose bit of hair from his wig back into place, somehow, who ever composed this costume had done a remarkable job finding a wig in his natural colour, which lead him to wonder how on such short notice.

The shoes themselves weren't all that bad, not too high a heel at all, really. The dress fit him somehow, though James had said it was meant for him, and even the make-up, though annoying, wasn't particularly troublesome. But the corset had him gasping for breath when he spoke and bit sharply into his waist. He silently thanked his sisters for all the play-time they shared as children.

Walking into the tavern he immediately wanted to walk back out as every eye turned to him and he couldn't help the blush rising in his cheeks. Men were sitting in each others laps, with their arms around each others necks and waists, other men were dressed much the same as him, though he noted with satisfaction that he looked better, and some men were holding hands, but this didn't seem far from the ordinary anyways. Some turned away, but several pairs of eyes looked him over from head to toe and Gillette feared being recognized and ripped apart on the spot. And not with knives either.

Nervously he made his way to an empty chair at the bar and quietly ordered himself a drink.

"Haven't seen you around here before, you must be new" Another man had slid onto the stool next to his and leaned in much closer than Gillette would have liked and it took all of his self-control not to flinch away. "My name's Garret, what's yours, miss?"

For the briefest of moments Gillette was quite surprised. Surely he didn't look good enough to be passed off as a woman? Remembering his briefing, he was told that those in costume were often referred to as women. Then it hit him that the man was expecting an answer. An answer which he had forgotten to rehearse.

"Marie. Marie Antoinette?" He blushed as he blurted out the first name that came to his head and did his best not to hide his face, but put on his most charming smile. It looked more like a grimace.

"Royalty! I'm so very honoured, your highness! Barkeep! A drink for the queen, if you please!" Gillette looked into his nearly full cup and tried to decline. The purpose of this assignment was not to get completely smashed, but to observe and collect as much evidence as possible. "I insist, your ladyship. A proper gentleman always pays for the drinks!"

_A proper gentleman does not attend a Molly House of his own free will_

He graciously accepted the drink with a smile, having to kick himself every now and again to remind himself to be in character. If he was found out, he could very well end up at the surgeons or worse for injuries. Three more drinks later and he was the bell of the ball, laughing and jeering and playing his part perfectly. The other 'ladies' fully enjoying the company of another and the other men enjoying it all the more. He slapped more than one mans hand when they drifted towards his rear, wagging a finger at them and proclaiming 'My derrière is royally off-limits until I've had a few more to drink. The night is still young!' Of course, he was promptly handed a fresh drink.

As the night wore on he became more and more accustomed to the idea of lying down in a bed in the Chapel room, whether he had company or not, he didn't care. The drink was upon him and he'd always been known as a frivolous drunk anyways. And so it was with three escorts, two arms wrapped around his waist, while another lady accompanied the arm of the man on his left, that he made his way to the adjoining room.

He was away in that room for some time, with his three new friends, and when he stumbled out of the house in the wee hours of the morning, he was barely making his way back the barracks. When he woke up, however, he was quite alarmed to find himself not in his quarters, but in a room much nicer.

He tried to sit up, only to collapse back down from pain, the pain seeming to come from all directions that he really didn't want to pinpoint. He had terrible headache and felt very nauseous, the light was bothering his eyes and he felt like he wanted to die.

"Marie Antoinette? Honestly, you couldn't think of a less controversial name? You're in a British colony, Lieutenant" Gillette cracked one eye open and glared blearily at James, who sat in a chair not far away.

"Let's see you come up with something better on the spot when a man has himself pressed against your side...How did you know about that, anyways?" He shut his eyes again and tried to sort out his thoughts. The first clear one was wondering why his voice was so hoarse and his throat felt swollen and sore.

"I'm not surprised you don't remember, you were quite drunk." Gillette was suddenly being propped up by pillows and a cool cup of water was being pressed into his hands. Gratefully he took a slow sip.

"Remember what? And please, don't speak so loud..."

"You don't remember the familiar looking man that escorted you to the back room, then? Pity, you were very talented." Gillette spat out the water he'd been drinking and stared at him in horror, realization dawning on him as his mind struggled through the fog.

"Y-you! You were there!? S-sir, I didn't know you were-How could you-? How far did we go!?" James wiped some spittle from his cheek with a smile.

"I was there to keep an eye on you. I'm not a sodomite; I made sure we only went as far as touching and using our mouths. I wouldn't have but you see we happened to have company; you were a very popular young lady, last night. So it was necessary to take some kind of action. It was very difficult to keep your hands out of my trousers, mind you, you were very eager." Gillette very nearly passed out as he took it all in. Well, perhaps that wasn't the best way to put it, since he had apparently taken all of the commodore in his mouth the night before.

"Sir, please...please forgive my terrible behaviour last night! I ought to be hanged! I should have minded how much I drank, I-"

"Orders, Gillette, you had orders. And sometimes to follow orders under such circumstances, sacrifices need to be made. No one needs to know the finer details of the operation anyways. Now, get some sleep, you have a long night ahead of you." Gillette's head flew up.

"What do you mean?"

"Well you didn't think it was going to be a one night thing, did you? All of the patrons were begging you to come back tonight and you gave them your word that you would. I'll bring you something to eat later." With that, he left, closing the door and leaving a horrified and baffled Gillette behind him, alone with his thoughts.

_...I was talented?_


End file.
